


according to plan

by ictus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Established Relationship, M/M, Rape Roleplay, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: Keith forces Shiro onto the mattress and uses every ounce of his strength to keep him pinned, just like they’d planned.Shiro struggles as the adrenaline kicks in, twisting and writhing, trying to break Keith’s grip. It’s not until Keith’s hand finds its way to Shiro’s belt that his voice finally shakes loose. “Wait,” Shiro begs, and it sounds genuine even to his own ears. “Please don’t do this,” he says.Just like they’d planned.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71
Collections: fandomtrees





	according to plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThatScottishShipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatScottishShipper/gifts).



> Happy holidays, I hope you enjoy this! With thanks to Soulstoned for beta reading.

Despite training with him for years now, Shiro’s shocked by Keith’s strength.

Maybe Keith has been holding back all this time, or maybe some small part of Shiro—the same part of him that’s desperate to be overpowered—is wilfully allowing this. But when Keith presses Shiro into the mattress, one cruel hand on the nape of his neck, the other keeping Shiro’s hands pinned behind his back, Shiro can’t break his hold.

Shiro struggles, gasping and cursing, but Keith’s grip is unyielding. With Keith on top of him like this, one of his knees pressed into the small of Shiro’s back, there’s no way he can break free—at least not without activating his prosthesis. The hand at Shiro’s neck disappears, and suddenly Keith is shifting so he can get a hand under Shiro’s hips and start working on his belt. Panic, _real_ panic sets in, and Shiro finds himself babbling before he can stop himself.

“Wait,” Shiro says, and there’s a tremble in his voice that he couldn’t possibly fake, even if he tried. “Please don’t do this.”

Keith doesn’t say anything, doesn’t laugh or mock him or do anything Shiro would expect of a man in his position. He just works methodically at the fastenings of Shiro’s pants, tugging them down over his hips. It triggers another surge of adrenaline that has Shiro bucking, twisting in Keith’s grasp as if he has any hope of fighting back.

“Just—wait, someone’s coming by later, they’ll see—”

“No one is coming.” It’s blunt and cruel and so unlike Keith that Shiro’s head spins with it. _No one is coming. No one will save you from this._

“Hold on,” Shiro begs as Keith works a hand down the front of his pants. Shiro hisses as Keith’s hand closes around his erection, gripping him tightly. “Please, I don’t want—”

“It looks like you do,” Keith says, and there it is again: that voice. Carefully detached and perfectly flat, and so, so unfamiliar.

“I don’t—” Shiro begins, but it’s lost to a groan as Keith presses his thumb against the slit, smearing precome around the head. Shiro’s cock is trapped between his body and the bed, and Keith’s grip is a little too tight and a little too dry. And yet, Shiro can’t stop bucking into his hand. Keith is touching him and Shiro can’t make him stop, and the very thought has Shiro leaking onto the bedsheets.

A whine works its way out of Shiro’s throat, but it’s cut off as Keith withdraws his hand—abruptly, and far too soon. There’s a puff of breath on the back of Shiro’s neck, like Keith’s laughing at him for the way his body wants this, even though Shiro himself is adamantly insisting on the contrary. It sparks a wave of humiliation that sets Shiro’s cheeks ablaze, that mixes with arousal and curdles into a sickly feeling in his gut. Keith’s hand is on his hip a second later, pulling him onto his knees so he’s face down, ass up, and Shiro bucks instinctively, trying to escape his touch.

But it’s no use.

Shiro’s legs are still tangled in his pants, and Keith’s grip on Shiro’s wrists is vice-like. Shiro lets out a muffled shout as Keith spreads him apart, rubbing his thumb over Shiro’s hole until Shiro’s a babbling mess.

“Please—please don’t touch me there, I don’t want— _ah_ —”

Shiro gasps as Keith finally presses in, all the way down to the knuckle. Keith doesn’t comment on the fact that Shiro’s already slick with lube, and Shiro can’t tell if he prefers it that way. But then Shiro imagines Keith berating him for preparing himself in advance so that he’s ready to take a cock from anyone, at any time, and _fuck_ , the thought has his dick throbbing.

“Enjoying yourself?” Keith asks.

Shiro wants to bite out a _fuck you,_ but the words get caught in his throat. Keith is pressing into him with two fingers now, and it’s so different from how he usually touches Shiro. It’s purely perfunctory, almost mechanical. Shiro’s pleasure isn’t a priority, isn’t even a consideration. No, it’s _Keith’s_ pleasure that takes precedence. And the only thing Keith needs is to ensure that Shiro’s physically capable of taking his cock, not that he enjoys it.

Keith withdraws his fingers without a word, and Shiro barely has a second before Keith’s unzipping his pants and pressing the head of his cock against Shiro’s hole. Shiro tenses all over, anticipating Keith forcing himself into Shiro’s body, but it never comes. Instead, there’s a moment of perfect stillness, the room going silent as they both hold their breath. Shiro knows what Keith’s doing—he’s giving Shiro one last chance to back out, to use his safeword and call the whole thing off.

But with Keith pinning him to the bed, seconds away from pressing into him, Shiro can’t think of anything he wants less. So he swallows around the lump in his throat and says in a voice that shakes—

“Please don’t.”

It’s barely more than a whisper, just one last plea for mercy, and it’s all Keith needs to hear. He presses into Shiro with a snap of his hips, too much too soon, and all Shiro can do is lie there and _take_ it.

It’s brutal. It’s ruthless. Keith fucks Shiro with abandon, like Shiro’s just a hole to be used, chasing his own pleasure with no concern for Shiro. Keith doesn’t give Shiro any time to adjust to his cock, and Shiro can only moan as Keith fucks into him again and again, too rough to be anything close to pleasurable.

And yet—

“You love this.” It’s half-statement, half-question, and the most Keith-like thing he’s said since they started.

Shiro makes a questioning sound, but it’s cut off by a gasp when Keith wraps his hand around Shiro’s cock, and _oh_. That’s how Keith knows. Because despite the rough treatment, the inevitable bruises, and all the begging and pleading, Shiro is impossibly hard, his cock flushed where it hangs heavy between his thighs.

“Please—” Shiro says, and he doesn’t know if he was going to say _please stop_ or _please more_ , but Keith seems to understand. Keith tightens his grip and starts jacking Shiro roughly, bringing him off like he’s trying to prove a point. It’s completely uncaring: there’s no rhythm, no finesse, and yet Shiro is leaking in Keith’s hand, already so close to coming.

“You love this,” Keith says again, but this time it’s not a question. Shiro’s face heats with renewed shame because yes, he fucking loves this. He loves being overpowered, pinned down. He loves being used, fucked roughly. But most of all, he loves that he can trust Keith with this. Keith, whose nails are digging into Shiro’s wrists, holding him fast. Keith who’s driving his body into Shiro’s, fucking him relentlessly. Keith, whose hand tightens around Shiro’s cock, giving him the perfect pressure, until the pleasure is almost too much, almost too good, building and building and building and—

Shiro drifts. Floats. Shiro loses himself in a haze of endorphins, unable to think of anything save for how good this feels.

Somewhere, however distantly, Shiro’s aware that Keith is still touching him. Fucking him. Keith has released Shiro’s wrists, his hands now bracketing Shiro’s hips, but the cruel bite of his nails is completely absent. His grip is softer. Gentle, even.

Shiro groans and pushes back into Keith’s touch, angling his hips so Keith is fucking him even deeper. Keith’s breath hitches, and it would be almost imperceptible if Shiro didn’t know him so well. A second later there’s a hand at the nape of Shiro’s neck as Keith runs his thumb over the short bristles there, and the unexpected tenderness makes Shiro’s chest seize up.

“God,” Shiro moans, his face muffled by the pillow. The pace has shifted since Shiro came; it’s slower, almost languid. Keith is hitting Shiro’s prostate on every thrust, and even though he’s hypersensitive from his orgasm, it has Shiro wanting _more_. “Please Keith, I—”

“I know,” Keith says, wrapping an arm around Shiro and pulling him upright so they’re pressed chest to back. They both groan as the new angle forces Keith deeper, and Shiro lets his head fall back on Keith’s shoulder, his eyes sliding shut as he adjusts to the feeling.

“Good?” Keith asks, and Shiro can only nod in response, struck mute. Keith’s lips are at Shiro’s neck, peppering it with the softest of kisses, and when he takes Shiro’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to turn Shiro’s face towards him, Shiro goes willingly. Keith kisses him deeply, fervently, with all the affection he’d been careful to withhold earlier. Shiro’s spent cock twitches against his thigh as Keith gently rocks into him, the two of them moving together in perfect unison.

“You were so good,” Shiro murmurs against Keith’s lips.

Keith’s entire body seems to sigh, and when he kisses Shiro again it’s tinged with relief. “I’m glad,” he murmurs.

“Are you close?”

“ _God_ yes,” Keith moans.

Shiro presses one last kiss to Keith’s lips and tears himself away, dropping back to the bed on all fours. Keith presses his hand between Shiro’s shoulder blades, a gentle pressure that has Shiro’s chest flat against the mattress, just like before.

This time, Keith’s thrusts are perfectly measured. Shiro rocks back into him, meeting every thrust, until Keith’s rhythm begins to falter. Shiro knows he must be close so he spreads his legs a little wider, offering up his ass to Keith and tightening around Keith’s cock. Keith bites out a curse, and a second later he’s grinding against Shiro and spilling inside him, his hips stuttering as he shudders through his orgasm. Shiro’s cock twitches again—the thought of Keith filling him up will never _not_ do that to him—but he’s too fucked out to even think about coming again.

“Shit,” Keith says after he catches his breath. Then, a few seconds later, “Wow.”

Keith carefully pulls out of Shiro, and Shiro immediately misses him, his hole clenching around nothing.

“Yeah?” Shiro asks, breathless.

Keith laughs, a little giddy. “Yeah. That was intense.”

Shiro rolls onto his back, careful to avoid the wet patch. “Good intense?”

Keith drops a kiss to Shiro’s lips. “The best.”

Shiro smiles as warmth suffuses his chest. He’s still riding the high from his orgasm, his skin buzzing with sensation. But most of all he’s overwhelmed with affection for Keith. Shiro is constantly in awe of this strong, beautiful man whom he trusts more than anyone, who makes him feel safe even when his mind is screaming _danger_.

Shiro cocks an eyebrow. “So you’d be up for doing this again sometime?”

Keith kisses him deeply this time, taking Shiro’s hand in his own and linking their fingers together. When he draws back, there’s a smile crinkling the corner of his eyes. “You bet,” Keith says, and seals it with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


End file.
